What I Know For Sure: It's so much easier to be on defense, than on offense. It's so much easier to hate than to love. It's always easier to be judgemental than open-minded; exclusive rather than inclusive. It's so much easier for family to ruin you because they know you best. It's easier to harbor resentment than truth. It's easier to point out someone else's flaws rather than your own. It's easier to be far away than nearby. It's easier to lie, but when consequences follow, it's easier to lay blame. It's easier to be a rival than a friend. It's easier to face your troubles alone than ask for help. It's easier to be alone than to invite others in. It's easier to write an email than to call. It's easier to stay busy doing things you hate than getting up the courage to do the things you love. It's easier to have no time rather than to make time. It's easier to dismiss the elderly or infirm rather than sitting with them and listening to their life-stories over and over again. It's easier to go to great lengths to try to stay young than to grow old gracefully. It's easier to throw difficult people away than to learn how to deal with them. It's easier to turn away than to do something. It's easier to ask for money than to earn it yourself. It's easier to con than to care. It's easier to disengage, disconnect, distance oneself. It's easy to project your feelings onto someone else. These are the things I know for sure. On Dad: Sometimes it's alright to be a little crazy. Dad, while arguing in the car with my mom raised up the car radio to full blast. Inappropriate? Sure. Immatture? You bet. But that's what I loved most about my parents. When mom said no, Dad said maybe. When mom said yes, Dad said over my dead rotting corpse! They were two young Puerto Ricans trying their best to learn while raising two kids. And sure, Dad always wished I'd grow up to be a policeman just like him, but I couldn't hang in that department. I wasn't sporty or physical enough. But the things that Daddy taught made me made me brave and strong (even though I didn't understand his methods). It was unorthodox the way we grew up: guns in the house, teaching me how to aim and shoot it at the age of eight, learning stealth methods with baby powder on pieces of paper. But it has always stayed with me. My favorite memory is when I got my first job at a department store. Having never really experienced racism, I had no idea what I was in for. After being trained for two days, I was put in the hats section and learned quickly that I was not fit for the job. The woman who managed me was white and said a lot of racist comments when I failed to show up for one of her scheduled days. I explained that I had not been scheduled and that someone must have changed my hours the following day. When the woman called me lazy and other things, I threw my name badge at her and told her to shove her job where the sun doesn't shine. Frantic and disappointed, I called my Dad and told him word-for-word what had transpired. Without a hitch, he said, "I'm on my way..." and in record time, he arrived like a supreme hero. The coolest thing occured while on the ride home when he said, "You don't need that job! F**k 'em!" This memory for me is the ultimate example of how my Dad taught me that he'd always have my back, no matter what the situation. Years later, I thanked Dad for giving me the confidence that I could figure things out for myself rather than expecting someone else to solve my problems for me. I love you, Dad. On Mom: Despite my mom's current thinking that I've always sought my father's love more than hers, I am primarily my mother's child. We share the same Chinese horoscope symbol: the ox. We like the same movies, television programs, have the same taste in clothes and decor, and most of all enjoy our solitude. My interest in keepsakes, tracking my family's history and scrapbooking are all thanks to my mom. Her impeccable record-keeping and patience are inherent in everything I do. These were skills that have helped develop and shape my career. My favorite memory of my mom involves her running up and down the aisle at PS #8 to capture me receiving the honor roll with an instant camera that in those days didn't have auto-focus. She would attend almost every honor and credit roll session, made it to my nerve-wracking spelling bees, survived torturous assemblies, and made it to my horrific performance of The Charleston dance. Every time I saw her in the audience, I felt as though I were walking on a cloud. While most kids didn't have the luck of seeing their parents EVERY TIME, my mom made it a point to always be there cheering me on. She did it for my sister too, no matter how tight the scheduling. I love you, too, mom. But for some reason, as time rolls on, people change. I now know that my parents weren't infallible. They weren't superheros, just people. I learned that it's easy to see their shortcomings and failures despite their major accomplishment in raising two pretty decent kids. I learned that being overprotective also helped me avoid major hardships early on. And even though I fought them tooth and nail over staying at a local college rather than going away, I now know that I was nowhere near ready to make such a leap. Parents know best...sometimes. D-I-V-O-R-C-E: Some kids have it rough and have to experience this when their too young to understand it. It was great that my parents held out as long as they did. We had some great moments. That's what it's all about, after all. I received from both of these wonderful people the best that each could offer. Like Dad always sang (from the Rolling Stones) You can't always get what you want...and I learned to understand that he was right. But divorce is never easy. I can't think of the marriage as a failure either. Like Dickens wrote: "It was the best of times. It was the worst of times." But now I see that all of the carrying on, the power-plays, the doubts, the triumphs, the disappointments are what molds us. It is how we learn about life and its struggles. We learn to cope and to come to ourselves and face the facts. Hey, sometimes we grow out of love or we come to all there is to know about another person. Like a caterpillar, we morph and change into a butterfly to newer lessons and a broader view of the world. After my parents divorced, my mom learned to drive. My father came to religion, after fighting my mom about it for many years. Both were relieved of their stifling duty and forced obligations. They learned to live again outward, onward, forward. Memory Lingers Longer than Bitterness: Life marches on, flanked by happy memories. Experiences that I will always cherish. Our blessings in a spring rain, our family trips to Canada and Florida, playing matre d' to celebrate my parent's anniversary, dancing and singing around the house. These are the best memories. And memories, unlike love, never die.

Farce: God has got to have a sense of humor. In two days, I've had firsthand examples of how the Lord giveth and taketh away... It started on the train in to work. I accidentally spilled some coffee on the floor and I was desperate to clean it up. I call out to everybody: "Does anybody have a newspaper handy?" Blank stares from everyone in my car, but luckily (or so I thought), a random guy passed me carrying a newspaper. I was kind and asked him if he could please give me a section of his newspaper that he doesn't read. I barely looked at the guy in the face when all of a sudden he handed me what appeared to be like a one-sheet insert advertisement. Incredulous at the man's candor, nay BALLS to hand me something so meager and pathetic, I just looked into his bright blue eyes when he added the kicker: "Well," he said, "I bought it to read it." (Aside: Note the snide italicized words to express the intent to make me feel like a tool) This is where the traditional me came in: I had nothing to offer but a meek 'thank you' as he walked away in true peacock fashion. I was mortified. But see, I'm just not clever enough to retort upon impact. Instead, I just shyly went about nervously rummaging through my purse to find some more sheets of scrap paper to cover the spill. I'm sure I looked like a frantic mess, but that wasn't what bothered me. What bothered me was the fact that still two days later, I'm imagining all of the things I could've said. You see, God not only blessed us with memory, but total recall. By that I mean that I just couldn't get the scenario out of my head! I pictured every second from every angle possible. Torturing myself over and over. Divine Comedy (Story Extracted from actual Journal Entry): This morning the alarm clock that woke me up, were the dogs. Lady (the fluffy white cloud) clicking her tiny paws on the tiled floor and Bear (the St. Bernard mix) in tow. For some reason, it's always the little dogs, with their Napoleonic complexes, which make the most noise barking. After struggling a bit with leashing them both, we made it outside. The air was brisk with a hint of summer (though the days were not hot enough to be considered the season). Bear took his usual lead, leaving behind his whining and eagerly replacing it with pulling and tugging. It is always harder to control Bear for that reason, since one's arms feel on the verge of dislocating. Lady, on the other hand went at a much slower snail-like pace. They meandered around Bear's favorite corner, parallel to the railroad that was now defunct, and past the window factory. As we turned the block back onto the Boulevard, we passed the house with the overgrown tree branches; the leaves now a deep shade of red. As I bent to avoid getting smacked in the face, I caught sight of a lonely dollar bill waving at me from between the bushes in the front lawn. I never think twice about these things. I immiediately swooped down, retrieved the bill and kept on walking. Serendipity is what educated people call luck. It is a favorite among scholars and I know because I was one. But I also know about karma which has a way of biting a chunk out of Serendipity every chance it gets. I had decided on eggs for breakfast, so I grabbed a carton out of the fridge and laid it haphazardly on the edge of the kitchen counter. Just as I reached for the half gallon of milk, BAM!, the whole egg carton fell. I salvaged what I could saying aloud, "I guess we're having scrambled..." You see, I like God, also have a sense of humor. It wasn't the best breakfast I ever had, but I understood at that moment, that I was lucky (serendipitous) enough to be eating breakfast at all. See?!

A Little Less Conversation and a Little More Action, Please: Okay, okay. I don't usually watch Politically Incorrect with Bill Maher, but I caught the end of the season finale and I had to agree. Our "lame duck" President GW, better take a few more vacations and forget all about the public office he's holding. Thankfully, his reign of terror will soon be over, but not soon enough for our troops out in the Middle East. What I fail to understand is the reasons why everyone hasn't impeached this guy. I mean, we were ready to tar and feather our last Prez because he got a hummer (not the car). But this one oval idiot has managed to ruin our economy, jack up gas prices, steal precious oil, forgive countries their debts, and oh yeah, declare himself a President with a minority of the votes. Let's not forget there are no "weapons of mass destruction" but there are potential terrorists among us. There's also more than a little confusion over which immigrants are acceptable: Mexicans or Iraqi terrorists. Am I missing something?! Let's delve a little more into the lie that is America: National Guard Spread Thin - GW thought it important to send our National Guard to help with the War in Iraq. So he sent some. Then, just this week, he's asked National Guard to help relieve undermanned Mexican border patrol. Then, there was the Massachusetts flooding in which the state declared a state-of-emergency, so good ole GW is requesting to send more National Guard members over there. Whew! Let's also keep in mind that GW served on the National Guard and received less-than-stellar marks due to his poor conduct. Shh...I'm trying to hear! - I wonder if the Secret Service told our government: Oh, that? Oh, well, uh...that's just a mini-recorder to...uh, can I have a glass of water? *ahem* I , well, that is...the President, uh, Mr. Bush asked us to kinda sorta listen...(clearing throat)...excuse me...that is, to record some very suspicious conversations and we kinda listened to 'em together and made fun of stuff, Sir. Puhlease. Isn't this totally like against the law? Lemme get this straight now, nobody is allowed to record anyone without their knowledge or consent with only one exception: IF YOU ARE THE US GOVERNMENT. Ah, I got it now. That's Not Oil, That's Just Really Black Coffee - So what if GW's Dad had an old agreement with Saddam Hussein over oil? Who cares that GW has an oil business he co-runs with his Dad? That's just a coincidence. That's not the real reason why our troops are in Iraq...NO! "Honey, it's for you...It's God Calling (Collect)" - Everybody should have seen a red-flag waving when early in his Presidency, Bush crazily admitted that he talked to God personally. A mighty wind blew and God, in the voice of Charlton Heston or James Earl Jones said, "George W Bush, why are you the President of the United States?" and GW shrugs like a fool. "Because, I voted for you...and so did Jesus." And rather than having GW taken away to the looney bin, we award him four more years. Yeah, that makes sense. "Rarely is the question asked: Is our children learning?"- This little beaut was from an actual speech Bush made in Florence, S.C., Jan. 11, 2000. Anybody who can put Dan Quayle's words to shame, has to be an idiot with a capital "E"...get it? The Most Vacationist President EVER - 'Nuff said. I'm sure there's stuff I missed, but I wonder why the American public and Congress have missed these. The nation that invented such things as protests, activism and boycotts cannot seem to gain enough momentum to oust this guy. All it can do is concede, check chads on voting cards, and run polls showing the President's sliding approval rating. GW declared himself President before every vote was counted the first time. The second time, the Electoral votes counted in his brother's state guaranteed him a win. Unfortunately, the only people losing in the deal are the American people. And that's just sad. So do us all a favor, lame duck. Stay on vacation. For the remainder of your Presidency. Pretty please. I am MeMa, and I approve this entry.

Step lively, step quickly

My feet in the sea

The currents, the currents

Will carry me

Why am I so unnerved by my feelings? The time and the tide that keep turning, pique my yearning. Gotta give the gods credit for influencing the creative spirit, making the world my Muse. Seems all I am right now is filled with ideas and thoughts and aspirations. Now, all I have to do is zero in on them. Focus. Hopefully, I won't be overrun by my imagination, drowning in those bitter little frustrating muddled up crumpled pieces of paper! Writers often have too much or too little. Never "just enough" to gain a clearer understanding of what to do first. That would prove too simple. So right now it is the insomnia, the details, details, details and the half-mad rants at three in the morning over characters which interrupt my sleep! It's pure bliss and delicious torture. I secretly admire the romance of figuring scenes out, analyzing the plot from every angle. I let those damned voices speak to me until the me that I know is cast away from myself to let the other players have their say. ..and boy, can they talk! For now, it's just Jane in her Candie's high-heels and blood red toenails. She loves to steal every scene, and if it weren't for Ruth, the Sheriff, and Cy, she'd get her wish alright. The mighty Aphrodite of my murder mystery.

Indio smokes his tobacco from his tightly wound cigar but hides from me when I turn the lights back on. I find him there, atop the refrigerator. A minitiaturized version of the being that lived; with handmade beads wound 'round his base. It is he whom I spot, every now and then, moving from his stationary post. He squats, he sits. He raises his hand to shade his brow. But when I turn, he is back in the same place as he was before. I know that he was given to me to serve as a guardian, protecting me from harm. I know too that this relic houses a spirit that will one day be my final guide. It will be his face I see: noble, stoic and unyielding; on the other side. When that day comes, I will turn to him and say, "You've served me well, old friend." And perhaps, he will finally show me a smile. And perhaps, God will let me in the front door.

See what I mean? A million thoughts. A million roads, a million different directions. Which brings me to the parallel notion: What if there were a back door in Heaven? What's a cat gotta do to get in?

I'm hoping Heaven has a back door, to let some sinners in

The battle for the soul, I hope, won't let the Devil win

If last is first and first is last and the meek shall inherit the Earth

Then I hope God lets the pauper get himself a fortune's worth

G'night.

And now onto my favorite subject in the world...ME! ...because it's all about ME all the time. ...because my arm's too short to box with God, so let's just talk about...ME! ...because you give us the news and we'll give you...ME! ...because, Luke, I'm leaving you! ...because I think to myself what a wonderful world (with ME in it)! ...because you scream, I scream, we all scream for ME! ...because it still is ALL ABOUT ME! And so on. So let me start with the fact that I love my shoes. Shiny gold ballet slippers. I know, I know. Perfectly Yummy (if you're a girl) and "Why'd-you-decide-to-buy-those-things?" (if you're a boy). Ten more points if you're an adorable cutey of a boy. Minus ten if you're a jerk. So I'm happy and contentedly wearing these beauties to work (and I know that they can be considered a little loud for the workplace but I'm just a temp so...WHATEVER!) and the aforementioned jerk approaches. Let's watch. Jerk - (giggling) "Oh, what are those?" Me - "They're shoes." Jerk - "OK, Dorothy...there's no place like home, there's no place like home." Me - "Shut up!" Yeah, I know. Snappy comeback, huh? NOT! I can't think of 'em quick enough. But that one jerk managed to ruin a good portion of my day until... Cool Office Chick - "I loooove your shoes!" Me - "Really? Jerk just made me feel so bad before..." Cool Office Chick - (rolling her eyes) "Whatever! I really loooove those shoes." Me - "Thanks! You really made my day." *smiles all around (except in the dark cloudy area by Jerk)* Which brings me to my next thought: Why do I care what others say? The answer is...there is no answer! OK. Reality. My vain little heart really does get broken when people are all judgemental of me. I really hate to be odd man out. That's despite my wish to be all independent and "who-the-heck-cares" nonchalant about things. Truth is, I am extremely sensitive and most creative people who appear to have the thick skin of a rhinoceros still secretly feel inadequate and just plain weird. But when in doubt, GO ALL OUT! I mean, do whatcha wanna do badass! That's right I'm talking to you in your "Bert and Ernie"-striped shirt and bellbottoms. Go ahead and be who you be and never let The Man get you down. Gotta admire the differences. Otherwise we'd all be Stepford clones...or working for the US government. And who the heck wants to do that?! Later, Gators (and Playa Haters)!

'Twas the harpy that seized me very soul. She led me to the cold, inviting water with her gaze. As I stood with spear in hand, she sang her sweet song of longing. She fixed her eyes upon the surface of the sea beckoning me to approach ever nearer and like a lovesick fool, I did. My vain attempts to avoid her stare only left me worried. The ship she rocked and I lurched forward to hold me steady. When I did, this clever creature swam up near me, close enough for me to gouge out 'er eyes. But lo, she was more keen than I. She called out to my very soul and I could not protect it. She bade me sit beside her on a wave as I slipped into the murky deep; never to be heard or seen again. Some say that she is destined to lure sailors and lovers to their deaths with her songs, shaming the sirens and Circe herself. Harpy, this I swear: if our paths should cross again, I will kill thee! Yar!

From "Sara Smile" to "She's Gone": After nearly four solid years, the on-again/off-again relationship between Carlos, his daughter and I is finally over. Despite our best efforts, the girl was just not interested in repairing her life. It hurts in that we really worked hard to turn her around. Many a night was spent preaching and speeching and loving and worrying. We struggled but to no avail. She just wasn't listening. There was a metaphor which came from my Dad long ago when he had made a life-changing decision. He described the decision-making process as someone being warned about going down a dark alley. Most people, sensing the danger will turn back. But for some, the need to press on is instinctual. They go forward not because they know what's at the end, but despite it. Like Faust, they just want to see for themselves. Well, much to my chagrin. Where Do We Go From Here? I can't say for me, that she'll be totally missed. I was relieved that she was gone. I felt the energy shift the minute she walked out the door! Lest you think I'm being heartless, anyone's who's met her knows that she drives a negative energy that is so all-encompassing, it eats up any other focus. Her ability to play with your emotions, was draining. You spend so much time worrying about what she had or hadn't done that you scarce have any chance to live your life. There was no use in trying to instill your visions, life experiences, or advice either. So now, toughlove. The one who's really suffering though all of this is, Carlos. He's heartbroken over Sara's decision, but hopes that it will all be for the best.